


Five Years and Seven Months

by okbutphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: DAN AND PHIL - Freeform, Dan POV, Established Relationship, Happy Ending?, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phan Angst, Phanfiction, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, it has a shitty ending and im sorry, it's mostly dan's POV, they sad, wait it's all Dan's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8819062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okbutphan/pseuds/okbutphan
Summary: Dan hasn't harmed in almost five years and seven months, but when he and Phil argue and Phil ends up storming out his feelings bubble over and the need is rising, and he does almost anything to stop himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: eating disorders, s*lf harm, vivid description of said s*lf harm, depression, sad shit
> 
> i have no self-control when writing angst what the heck

Dan fell to the floor the minute Phil slammed the door, he fell due to dizziness from not eating and being up until 9am and sleeping for an hour. 

 

He probably mumbled Phil's name, but it wouldn't do any good seeing as Phil would probably stay the night at a hotel, this argument being a particularly big one. 

Many nights had Dan sat in bed, too awake to go to sleep and too tired to do anything, staring at the old marks on his wrists. How he longed to open them and feel the familiar warm blood dribble lazily down his arm. He had to stay strong, though, because he had never been strong enough to actually throw away /all/ of his cutting implements, he still had one old blunt blade left from a sharpener but he couldn't do it. Not while Phil was counting on him, relying on him to stay safe while at home, although they'd fought and he'd stormed out the door with a look of anger placed behind his glasses, while fresh tears slid down Dan's nose. 

 

He hadn't done it in years. How long had it been? Almost five years and seven months. He could stay strong. He would do this. He would /not/ breakdown because of an argument. 

 

The argument wasn't the only reason he was itching to open his skin, he was feeling the way he hadn't felt in five years and seven months, a numbness. 

 

He'd felt devoid of all emotion and colour, although he'd been laughing with his friends earlier that day, he hadn't been able to get out of bed suddenly one day, he hadn't eaten simply because he couldn't be bothered and didn't feel like the emptiness in his stomach was due to lack of food. 

 

The argument had started because he had dropped two glasses while emptying the dishwasher, and although it probably wasn't necessary for him to snap at Phil for exclaiming "Dan!", and to hold his shaking hands behind his back while turning red in the face and screaming at Phil for "being the same clumsy shithead what was he doing attacking him like that" and just like that all the other issues of the week they'd simply laughed at or brushed off showed up, how Dan was always mixing colours and whites and how Phil never fucking did any washing anyway and he still managed to keep like, seven towels in his bedroom even though Dan had only /just/ gotten them out of the dryer yesterday morning. 

 

He walked over to his piano, with the intention of playing calming music, but the notes which flowed from his long fingers were the angry thumpings of Beethoven's Sonata Number 14, in a way which reminded him of a storm in slow motion, a lot like how the argument seemed to him in rewind. He'd not known where he'd been going when he yelled curses at the man he loved, and he had long given up playing the song how it was supposed to go, it was picking up a rhythm which was making his fingers ache and he fucked up half the notes but he hadn't noticed and was finding it harder to breathe and he wanted to song to be over so that he could let out a deep breath, and the final chord was pressed lightly this time and his slender fingers were brought to a halt, the storm inside of him slowing. 

 

11:32, that's what the clock said. Phil would supposedly be back at around 12 the next day, if he ever did return, and how was Dan meant to distract himself from wishing to claw his skin apart and watch the blood ooze from the burning cut?

 

He starts another song, he's not even sure what one it is, perhaps the same as before but in a different key, but who can tell when he's not even playing significant notes anymore he's just lightly pushing down random black and white blocks of wood and sobbing, dripping snot and tears on his jumper and not caring, resting his head on the keyboard, not hearing the atrocious, dissonant noises it's making over the sound of his own whimpers. 

 

He knows he has to stay strong, for his subscribers, for Phil, for the lady downstairs who always seems to be coming out when he is and wishes them a good day, the postman, that guy who works at Starbucks and compliments his outfit almost every day, his old school teacher, his mum, his dad, his brother; people who's names he's not sure of pop into his head, along with a need to impress them, to be able to survive the night without Phil or anyone else. 

 

He tears into the office, an idea leaping off his mind to lull the beast inside of him, and boy is he desperate to find a way. He grasps a red pen and endlessly pulls it back and forth across his arms, running out of space on both sides, so switching to his right and non-dominant hand to scrawl bumpy lines on his other arm, top and bottom. 

 

When the pen is fading and he hasn't any more arm to fill he drops the pen and scrambles back down the stairs again, not even sure why he's in such a hurry but he just /has/ to stop himself from breaking apart after all the hard work he's put in so far all the last five years and seven months. 

 

He grabs another pen and sits at his desk, head still spinning and hands shaking even more than ever. Dan points the pen towards paper and starts to scratch out ideas for a new video. 

 

He remembers filming the coming out video, finally clicking upload with knees jogging up and down and watched at the view number went up, and the phandom's comments piled in. Most were along the lines of "I fucking KNEW IT. congrats squish and angel bean, phan5ever!1!1!!1!1!1" He and Phil had smiled and answered a few questions on the next liveshow and for weeks after they hadn't stopped smiling. 

 

Now Dan was almost wondering why they were grinning like such idiots. He finds it harder to force a laugh and now when Phil tells him a joke he's seen he almost doesn't understand why Phil is wearing a shit-eating grin and giggling with his pointy tongue poking between his teeth, he understands the joke fine, it's just /why/ he's giggling so damn much, he doesn't get humour anymore, or happiness or anything. 

 

Or occasionally, sitting in his bed at a time when its not exactly night but it's definitely not daytime either, and he'll come across a joke or funny text post from the light which burns his eyes (yet he keeps scrolling anyway) and he'll start laughing, a fake, hyena laugh which doesn't sound quite like a genuine laugh does, and he won't be able to stop his laughter and tears will fill his stinging, red surrounded eyes and he'll hear Phil groan and turn over in the room just across the landing. 

 

That's another thing, he's stopped sleeping in the same bed as Phil because he doesn't want him to be disturbed by the same artificial light and rocking of his body as he cries silently. 

 

When feelings wash over him like that it's almost terrifying, he's not prepared for the intensity of how utterly shitty he feels, and how afraid he is that these are possible the only times when he actually feels emotion, he's either nothing or the lowest of the low. Dan almost wishes Phil would find out that he's not okay again, he needs Phil to hug him at random opportunities just because he knows he's thinking too much, he needs him to hold his shaking body while sobs rack his body and his face is completely soaking, from tears or snot or spit who knows, and he just wants to stop. 

 

He's disturbed from his thoughts (and all attempts he had at _actually_ planning stuff for his job) at last by a ping from his phone nearby. 

 

From: Philly McMuffin

Hey bear. Sorry it's so late but I wanted to apologise for earlier. I shouldn't have started something when you're clearly worried about something, I'll be home soon hope you're safe and alright love you lots xxxxxxxx

 

Although he has been thinking partly about Phil's return all evening and he's desperate for him to come home and save him from the emptiness of his own company and darkness of his own thoughts, he doesn't reply. 

So after a few minutes of waiting anxiously for a new message to come up, instead Phil sees, 

 

Read at 2:58am

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phil still isn't home and it gets anGsty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, warnings for depression, s*lf h*rm, vivid descriptions of it, insomnia if that's a warning

It's almost been an hour since Phil sent that text and he's still not home. Ridiculous worries and queries are flooding Dan's brain and he's almost picking up his phone again to tell Phil that he forgives him, no, to apologise and beg him to come home. 

What if he went to a bar instead? What if he was mugged and stabbed? What if he was lying and he was at someone else's house, doing things that Dan knew that he should only be doing with  _him_?  

 

Dan wasn't strong enough. He couldn't hold onto what little hope he had that Phil would return, it was already 4:27 in the morning, one of Dan's greatest fears. Most nights he'd be awake like this- not even doing anything- sometimes just lying in bed waiting for sleep to hit him, though most nights it probably wouldn't until late in the morning. 

 

He pulls his Mac onto his lap and without thinking taps the word 'insomnia' into the search bar.

 

Google alone presents him with billions of results but the recurring words are "symptoms of depression" or "side effects of depression" and the word is printed into his head from the black on white on the screen in front of him which is starting to be seen as a blur. 

 

He thinks about it again. Is he depressed? Were the feelings (or not feeling) left over from last time? Should he do something when it's been so long? 

 

He has antidepressants left over in his drawer, probably left to rot along with tangled headphones and receipts but he knows he won't ever use them again.

(he'll know he's really depressed then)

 

 

He couldn't take it. He couldn't do it. He's not strong enough. He can't do it on his own. 

 

He pulls open his bedside drawer again, ignoring the intimidating orange pill bottle and searches for the one blade he didn't think to throw out. 

 

He's regretting picking it up but his quivering fingers are holding it tighter than he was conscious of. 

 

How could he ever think that he was okay again?

His heart are heavy, and he can almost hear the same shouting he heard five years and seven months ago when Phil walked in on him drawing a blade across his arms. 

 

He closed his eyes, it was all over now anyway so he took the blade to his skin and it was cold which almost would've surprised him if the feeling had been unknown. The sharp edge would be good enough to do what he had to, and when he pierced his skin with the small metal clutched between his thumb and forefinger he felt a quiet release of air come from his mouth that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. It was all over now, might as well go nuts. He drew the blade across his pale white arms once again, and six more times. 

 

His blood was warm and a violent contrast against his almost white skin. It was a familiar stinging sensation he'd grown addicted to many years ago, it was his drug, his escape. 

 

He was still pulling the tiny silver weapon across his right arm when he heard jangling of keys and the door push open. He was paralysed, even when Phil pushed open his bedroom door. 

 

"Look Bear I'm sorry, can't we just forge- what the fuck are you doing?" His voice turned to a shout, and Dan winced at the loud noises at /ten to five in the fucking morning/. 

Phil stormed over to his bed and ripped away the metal which had wreaked the damage on Dan's arms in the first place. 

 

"Where did you even get this? What were you doing Dan? It's been /FIVE FUCKING YEARS/ WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS HAPPENING?" 

He ran to the toilet and threw the blade in, flushing it before Dan could grab it again and held his wrist tightly. 

 

"What the fuck?" He said softly, the curse word sounding foreign in his mouth, the consonants sounding like they wouldn't fit on paper, and even Phil's face was starting to be a bit blurry, but his cerulean eyes were clear as ever and angry. 

 

Dan opened his mouth in an attempt to defend himself and instead let out a choking sound which made him sink to his knees, his arms wrapped around himself. 

He wasn't sure. What was happening to him? Thankfully Phil shushed him and pulled Dan towards him, repeating "hey" in a reassuring manner. 

 

"Bear, I know you probably don't want to talk about this but really, what's happening? It had been so long, I thought you were happy" 

 

The words shock Dan, because he too thought he was happy, but recently it had been harder- he'd had more existential crises- more days when he just _couldn't_ get out of bed and the entire day seemed useless.

 

"Is this why you've been sleeping in your own room this past month?" Phil whispered.

"No," Dan replied, "Because I haven't been sleeping. This is the first time I've done this" he gestures to his arm, which Phil is currently bandaging up. 

 

"Because of the argument," Phil realises. "This is my fault-"

He suddenly pulls Dan close and strokes his hair lovingly. 

"I'm sorry Bear- you mean everything to me, I mean it. You are absolutely not alone and don't you dare ever think that. It doesn't matter whether you speak to a therapist and need medication or just simply need me- someone- to love and care for you. I know I've been so busy and snappy over the past few months and honestly, I don't have an excuse. Bear- you will be as happy and smiley as you used to be and you will be able to wake up in the morning and everything will be okay. I promise. I love you so much Dan and I couldn't bear to lose you ever in a million years- you are my everything." 

Dan felt tears dripping onto his shoulder and knew during that speech he'd been doing the exact same thing. He reached up and cupped Phil's chin. 

"I love you too" He grinned and pressed their lips together. 

Dan smiled into the kiss and knew he wouldn't be completely better straight away, but at least he had someone to hold him in the worst of times. 

 


End file.
